


Badass Supernatural Crime Fighting Doesn't Pay The Bills

by XOSweetsOX



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, And Yet Somehow The Wall Is Still Standing, Getting Together, I Just Really Wanted To Tag It, It is Made of Bricks, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Monster of the Week Gets Them Together, Someone Took IT Upon Themselves To Remove Many of These Bricks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stripper Stiles Stilinski, There is a Fourth Wall, This Has No Bearing On The Story, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, soulbond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XOSweetsOX/pseuds/XOSweetsOX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles lives a double life.</p>
<p>Derek fits into both of these lives.</p>
<p>But neither of them know it.</p>
<p>Yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Badass Supernatural Crime Fighting Doesn't Pay The Bills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eldee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/gifts).



> It's not stated directly anywhere in the fic, but Stiles is definitely older than eighteen. You'll see.
> 
> -:-:-:-:-:-

Everyone has a Secret Identity.

 

The seemingly dumb woman who releases a world renowned fashion line and donates most of the money she makes to charities that build schools for underprivileged girls in Africa.

 

The really hot quarterback who secretly coded for his high school robotics team but doesn't want anyone to know because it's nerdy, who then goes on to develop the first universal mobile operating system and revolutionizes the technology industry.

 

The powerful CEO who spends all her free time lobbying for workplace equality because she wants her daughter to be able to reach the same heights she did despite wanting to work in a male-dominated industry.

 

Or how about the guy who, for most of his life, is really geeky and spazzy and no one thinks he'll be able to accomplish much, but who secretly saves the world from mythical creatures trying to annihilate them every night...

 

Who also has to work as a stripper. Because sadly, badass vigilante supernatural crime-fighting really doesn't pay the bills.

 

And stripping? Somehow it really does. And honestly it's kind of fun sometimes, because every once in a while there's that one really hot guy who pays extra attention to you (and your bubble, because these CK briefs work wonders) and you wonder why he isn't coming over to tip you or something, because it's not like he'd be alone in doing that... And then, finally, he does start to walk over, and you start to a victory dance inside (and a little outside, but right now outside dance supposed to be a very different type of dance) because score! But then he keeps walking right on past you to that one girl behind you at the bar who made some really nasty comments about your best friend who is totally rocking an awesome peek-a-boo jock next to you and you wanted to fucking murder her. And the guy just walks right up and plants one on her!! Just like that!! And all of a sudden they're making out in public and everything's really awkward because you really thought you had amazing gaydar, but apparently not, and does this still sound hypothetical and deep and shit? Because it's not.

 

"Right Scott?"

 

"What? Dude, you know we're not supposed to make conversation while we're performing."

 

"Scott, we're fake grinding on tiny stage in a dark corner of the shadiest gay bar ever, and that guy just kissed that girl over there." Stiles deadpanned "I think that warrants conversation. Besides, it's not like the boss is going to care if we're talking anyway."

 

"I'm sorry, what was that, Stilinski?"

 

"Fuck! What the hell, Deaton?" Stiles jumped and spun around to face the man.

 

"Hmmm, I'm pretty sure fuck isn't in your job description, Stilinski. I'm not a pimp. What you have to do on your own time to pay the bills, that's your business..."

 

"I am not a prostitute! I'm actually a virgin, thank you very much! And besides, I have another job to pay the bills, I don't need to sell my body."

 

"Really? And what is your 'other job' Stilinski? Walking dogs?"

 

"Uhhhhh, its... Security related!" Scott jumped in. "We actually both also work in the security sector together, as a day job."

 

"Well, if you keep talking like this you might need to find a different _night_ job. Just shut up and get back to work."

 

Stiles waited until he was sure Deaton was out of earshot, and whispered "Dude! What the hell, you almost blew our cover!"

 

"What cover?" Scott whispered back.

 

"No. Just, no. Don't even start with me Scott; you know exactly what I'm talking about!"

 

"What's that?" A new voice asks.

 

"I uh, huh... hunh?" Stiles stutters.

 

"What exactly is your uh, friend? Friend, trying to deny talking about?"

 

Stiles turns around and finds himself face to face with perfection. Five o'clock shadow, rugged but sharp features, hair just long enough to wind fingers through and tug, and a body like Zeus himself. Except better.

 

There's an awkward pause before Stiles somehow stutters out "Club patrons aren't supposed to talk to performers!"

 

"Really? But how else am I supposed to tell you how good those briefs look on you? I suppose I could just give you a really big _tip_..."

 

Stiles mouth falls open. Is this guy really flirting with him?

 

The man smirks and flashes a wad of bills before tucking them into Stiles waistband and walking away, leaving behind a speechless Stiles and a smirking Scott.

 

"Dude! He totally just hit on you!"

 

"I know, idiot. Just keep dancing."

 

"But Stiles-"

 

"Shut up, Scott! I don't want to talk about it." Stiles snaps, attempting to wrench his gaze away from the (fucking amazing) retreating ass of the hot stranger.

 

Scott pauses for a second, staring intently at Stiles face. Then his face breaks out into that annoyingly adorable puppy grin.

 

"Dude, you're completely gone on the guy, aren't you! You literally just met him and have no idea who he is, and you're already big time crushing on him!"

 

"Scott, I said shut up."

 

Scott whines "Aww, but we never get to talk about your crushes. Please, just this once-"

 

"What the hell Scott, you're straight!  You're freaking soul-bonded to Allison, and yet you want to stand here discussing that guy's ass with me?"

 

"Not really, but Allison would kill me if I didn't try to get as many details as possible before telling her."

 

Stiles rolls his eyes hardcore. "Ugh, why do I even put up with you two?"

 

"Aww, come on Stiles. You know you love us."

 

Stiles refuses to talk for the rest of the night. Which, you know, he's not usually one for following the rules, but the knowing looks Scott keeps giving him are saying enough for the both of them.

 

-:-:-:-:-:-

11:44 A.M.

 

"Dude, Scott! My

mating mark appeared!"

 

"Hey, that's awesome

Stiles! Can you send

me a pic?"

 

"Yeah, sure! Hold

on a second..."

 

"It's not going through."

 

"Anyway, it's like three

spirals that all connect

together in the middle."

 

"Woah, dude. You know

what that is, right?"

"Ummmmmm, no?

What's it mean?"

 

"It means your soulmate

is an alpha werewolf,

Stiles! Didn't you pay

attention in Marks 101?"

 

"No, not past the

whole "Solid band

around your wrist

until you and your

mate are within 100

feet of each other,

then the mark appears."

 

"Stiles, you basically just

summarized the first ten

minutes of that class."

 

"We had that class for

an entire semester."

 

"You know what,

shut up Scott! The

only part of that class

*you* paid attention

to was how to woo a

Soulmate, so you

have no room to talk!”

 

“At least I knew your

mate was a werewolf!

You didn’t even know

that much!”

 

“On a completely

unrelated note, do

you think my mate

could be that guy

from earlier in the

club?”

 

“Really Stiles? Really?

I didn’t think you were

that desperate...”

 

“You know what?

Fuck you too, Scott!

I’m allowed to dream

here!”

 

“Honestly though,

there’s nothing that

says it couldn’t be

him.”

 

“Theoretically.”

 

“Scott, don’t you dare

get my hopes up. As

the only one of us

who payed attention

in that goddamned

class, is it possible

that it could be him?”

 

Yeah, it’s very possible.

Most of the other guys

in there at the time were

regulars, so you would

have known if it was

one of them before last

night, and that guy

definitely came within a

hundred feet of you. The

only thing left to do now

is find him and see if

your marks match.”

 

“Fuck yeah! You’re the

man Scott!!”

 

“Stiles, how even are

you going to find him?”

 

“I’ll figure something

out. I found my mate,

Scott! That’s literally

all I care about right

now.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Hey, Lydia’s got a

lead on the Blobs,

want to go check it

out?”

 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be

right over.”

 

“K”

 

-:-:-:-:-:-

 

So, if you hadn't figured it out already, Stiles lives a double life. Stripping by night, and crime fighting by day. But not just any crime fighting, no no no, supernatural-being crime fighting. Which usually results in some kind of disgusting mess.

 

"Dude, gross! Why do these things always have to spit goo and crap! Also, why do I never notice in the middle of battle?"

 

Also, he's not alone...

 

There's Lydia, the diva banshee, which normally would seem really weird but that girl can kick ass in literally anything.

 

His bestie Scott the Alpha Werewolf. And not just any Alpha, oh no, Scott’s a fucking True Alpha. Stiles is so proud of him, seriously, you can’t know a guy for as long as he’s known Scott and not become emotionally invested in their life.

 

Anyway…

 

There’s Allison the Huntress, who has a bow and very much knows how to use it in extremely terrifying and deadly ways. (Suck on that, Clint Barton!)

 

And there’s Stiles. No one, not even Stiles, is quite sure what to call Stiles… Magic user is to generic, Mage is too lofty, Wizard is too robe-y, and Warlock makes him sound like a leprechaun. So Stiles has settled on the title of Male Witch for no reason other that it most accurately describes him.

 

Oh, and there’s Sourwolf. The super broody and angsty alpha werewolf with a really small pack that fights with the group against whatever the crap monster they happen to find this week in the disproportionately large number of creepy places Beacon Hills just happens to have.

 

None of the rest of them know who Sourwolf or any of his pack is, which is probably why Stiles has no trouble talking to Sourwolf about literally anything.

 

“So I met my mate at the club last night.”

 

Pretty much exactly like that.

 

The wolf stumbles for a step and whips his head around to stare Stiles down with his red eyes. His head is slightly tilted to the side, like a dog that doesn’t understand what his owner is saying (although Stiles knows from experience that Sourwolf absolutely hates dog jokes) and he’s looking at Stiles like Stiles is crazy. Which, hello, secret double life dealing with the supernatural here, who wouldn’t go a little crazy.

 

“What? What’s wrong with that?”

 

The wolf gives him that look with his creepily expressive eyebrows, the one he gives Stiles every time Stiles just says random crap (read: constantly) because Stiles knows exactly what. But he loves messing with the wolf, so he keeps going.

 

“You know, the gay club. The one where I work as a stripper. And it has good drinks. Come on, I know I’ve told you about the club before.”

 

The wolf’s expression is shifting to something slightly more shocked, and Stiles isn't sure what that means, but the guy is free to walk away at any time! (Albeit with a heavy amount of entirely unrequited and unwelcome complaining on Stiles part.)

 

“Anyway, there was this really hot guy there last night who I think might be my mate! And I’ve been looking all over for him ever since, but he hasn’t come back to the club, and I have no idea where he might be.”

 

The wolf now looks entirely shell-shocked, and a little traumatized, but Stiles filter has been nonexistent since the day he was born, so again, he keeps going.

 

“Also, he’s a werewolf, and a fucking Alpha at that! Score! So I was wondering if you have any hot Alpha friends in the area who recently went to the gay club downtown? Maybe?”

 

The wolf just stares at him for a moment before turning heel and scrambling away.

 

Stiles isn’t quite sure what just happened.

 

It was probably constructive, though, so score!

 

-:-:-:-:-:-

 

It’s him.

 

How did Derek not know it was him?

 

Well, he did look really different out of his fighting clothes, for one.

 

And nope, not going down that rabbit hole, because the image of him in those fucking briefs has been proven several times in the last few days to have a very intense effect on Derek’s ability to stay focused. And also, he’s almost out of hand lotion.

 

 

Going to the club had been a huge risk. Derek had felt like he was finally ready to move on from all of his past failed attempts at relationships and try to finally find his mate.

 

And look how well that went. A witch with an attitude problem.

 

Who’s also the hottest, sweetest, and kindest angel of a man to ever walk the face of the Earth.

 

What to do, what to do.

 

-:-:-:-:-:-

 

So his name is Derek.

 

He’s seems really gruff, but in actuality he’s just a world-weary man with a heart of gold. He knows exactly what to say and when, but never says too much. He’s perfect at just listening (because goodness knows Stiles would not do well with a mate who couldn’t put up with Stiles’ incessant babbling) and his soft smiles are the perfect counterpoint to Stiles wild gesticulations. They’re yin and yang, one an extreme extrovert and one an extreme introvert.

 

They’re perfect for each other.

 

Which, you know, that’s kinda the point of having a mate in the first place.

 

Anyway, so he came back to the club a couple of weeks after the first time, and by then Stiles had gotten a little impatient (read: desperate) so he ran right up to the man and grabbed his wrist.

 

Now, normally that’s really not socially acceptable, but the Derek kinda did the same thing so no one really cared.

 

Except the two of them, who had finally found their other half.

 

They both just stood there and stared at the other for a while, gazing deeply into the other’s beautiful eyes which managed to say “It’s you!” and “It’s too soon for this.” and “I love you.” all at the same time.

 

And then Deaton walked up and told Stiles very calmly and terrifyingly in that way he does that Stiles needed to get back to work. So he did, not before exchanging names and numbers with Derek. And they haven’t stopped texting since.

 

 

Right now, they’re on their tenth date, and things have gotten pretty serious pretty fast. They’ve gone through the entire spectrum of date nights, from Netflix marathons of Arrow and Dr. Who (they both have extremely eclectic tastes in movies and tv show that somehow manage to complement each other perfectly), to corny but sappy amusement parks (and boy is Stiles going to treasure those photo booth strips for the rest of eternity), to action movies at an actual movie theater (where they both spent the entire time criticizing the cheap special effects).

 

It’s been a dream.

 

And, as with most mates, they’re ready to go to the next level a lot earlier than with traditional relationships.

 

Meaning engagement.

 

Except Stiles has kinda been keeping his dual identity a secret, which is a problem when it comes to the man you want to be with forever and ever amen.

 

-:-:-:-:-:-

 

3:37 P.M.

 

“Hey Der-Bear, what’s

up? Got anything

important going on this

evening?”

 

“Nope, no plans.”

 

“Awesome! So there’s

something I’ve been

really needing to tell

you, but it needs to be

said in person, and I

want to say it before we

go any further in our

relationship.”

 

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing

bad!”

 

“Although, I might not

be the best judge of that.”

 

3:45 P.M.

 

“Derek?”

 

“Still here. You know,

something actually just

came up, we’ll have to

talk some other night.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Love you Derek, ttyl!”

 

-:-:-:-:-:

 

3:46 P.M.

 

“Hey Scott, is it possible

to completely fuck up

your relationship with

your mate before it’s

ever really gone

anywhere?”

 

“Really Stiles? What

did you do?”

 

“Well, I was going to tell

him about the whole

magic, supernatural,

crime-fighting thing

tonight. I had this really

awesome dinner planned

and everything, it was

going to be fucking

romantic, man!”

 

“But then I screwed it up

by trying to invite him

over for dinner by telling

him that there was

something big I needed

to tell him, and I think he

got the wrong idea.”

 

“Well, either way there’s

nothing you can do

about it right now. Lyds

just got a big lead on

the Spektres that have

been destroying all

the cemeteries lately.

She knows where they

are, so it’s time for a

faceoff!”

 

“But Scoooot!”

 

“I’m in the middle of an

existential crisis here,

you can’t just tell me to

move on!”

 

“I’m not asking you to

move on, I’m asking

you to put it on hold

for a few hours.

Then you can go

apologize in person,

tell him your big

secret, and you guys

can kiss and make up.

Just like everyone else

in the history of mates.”

 

“Ok?”

 

“Ok, got it.”

 

“Time to be in attack

mode, relationship

stuff can come later.

Saving lives is most

important right now.”

 

“That’s the spirit!”

 

“Meet at Allison’s house

in 10, K?”

 

“K.”

 

-:-:-:-:-:-

 

So Sourwolf went and seriously injured himself, in usual Sourwolf style.

 

He’s always so intent on trying to protect everyone else that he puts his own safety on the line, which is admirable, but stupid.

 

And now he’s bleeding out on the forest floor.

 

Of course, Stiles can heal him. There’s no way Stiles wouldn’t be able to heal him, healing is actually fairly simple for most magic users.

 

That is, if the big oaf would actually let himself be healed.

 

“Come on, Sourwolf! I need you to shift back in order to heal you, why are you being so fucking stubborn about it? Yeah, it’ll hurt for a minute, but then Dr. Stiles can give you a happy face band-aid and make it all better!”

 

Even through the pain, Sourwolf manages to give him an eerily familiar glare of indignation.

 

“Okay, so I don’t actually have any smiley face band-aid’s. But I have magic, and magic is better than smiley face band-aids! Pretty please, Sourwolr? I really really don’t want you to die. Then who would I get to use all of my dog jokes on?”

 

The wolf gives Stiles one last heated glare before resigning himself to the inevitable, and shifting back.

 

And suddenly, Stiles finds himself knelt over a buck-naked Derek.

 

A buck-naked Derek with a massive bleeding wound in his side.

 

“Derek? Oh my God, Derek!”

 

“Stiles, just heal the cut.”

 

“But, but Derek-”

 

“Stiles! Heal the cut.”

 

“Okay.”

 

And so Stiles does, because really he has no other choice. Life altering revelations can wait until after everyone present has a permanent life to alter.

 

Once he’s done with the healing spell (a process which involves much caressing of Derek’s naked flesh through pure and utter coincidence) Stiles sits back on his heels and just stares at him, unsure. Is he Derek? Or Sourwolf? Or maybe both?

 

“So I’m sure you have a lot of questions…”

 

“Fucking hell, Derek, of course I’ve got a lot of questions. _You’re_ Sourwolf? All this time he was… you were…”

 

“I am him, yes. And you’re Stiles the Witch, feared throughout most of the supernatural world as one of the fiercest fighters this age has ever seen.”

 

“Well, um.... I mean, some people call me that.”

 

“Stiles, this doesn’t have to be complicated.” Derek smiles softly as he sits up and extends his hand to Stiles.

 

“Hi, I’m Derek Hale, also known as Sourwolf. I’m also your mate. And you are?”

 

“Stiles, Stiles Stilinski the Witch. And also your mate.”

 

Derek smirks as he leans towards Stiles.

 

“Oh, I know.”

 

And the kiss that follows is the one that Stiles carries with him throughout their entire lives together, a perfect mix of sass and snark and sugar and the deep, earthy taste that is Derek and them.

 

Them. Forever.

 

-:-:-:-:-

 

I'm having difficulties with getting to AO3 fic submit thing to recognize the characters I've typed, so please ignore this randomly functional and essential sentence at the bottom of my fic.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Eldee,
> 
> For the past couple of months I've been in kinda a bad place emotionally. I had hoped this would fix itself in time for me to write a beautiful, wonderful fic for you like you deserve, but that didn't happen. So, I ground out something really fluffy and sweet that helped me get to a better place. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and if not I'm really really sorry.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> XOSweetsOX


End file.
